


Building a Family.

by wanderingidealism



Series: Bombur's Children [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Arunn is a mama bear, Babies, Bombur - Freeform, Bombur and Arunn don't give a flying fuck, F/M, Family, Gen, Happy Ending AU, I mean jesus christ, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Other, Some Whump, They're like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie of middle earth in this, and Bifur spoils the children, and Bofur is cheerful but also a protective uncle, and Bombur is a Papa bear, and also prejudice against humans because every race in middle earth shits on the race of men, babies fuckin everywhere, because, because dwarves and elves, because of ONE GUY, because the temptation to write darkfic is too strong, bilbo, bombur's family - Freeform, but also some angst and whump, but i digress, everyone lives au, hehe, some racism, sometimes, sorry - Freeform, sunk half a fuckin continent and destroyed several kingdoms goddamnit, the elves had the fucking KINSLAYINGS so they have no right to judge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingidealism/pseuds/wanderingidealism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>inspired by Elanorasweet's picture which I believe was inspired by a prompt on the kink meme, where Bombur- who has a large family- created such a large family by adopting children. and not just dwarf children either, but elves and humans too!<br/>some of this takes place in a happy ending au, a lot of it doesn't because I like hurt/comfort far too much for my own good.<br/>This is the story about Bombur and Arunn, as they raised up a family without a care for the traditional conventions of dwarven society.<br/>Includes: Thoughts on mortality and mortality and the raising up of several rambunctious children through good times and bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Courtship and the Marriage.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenorasweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenorasweet/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Bombur's Children](https://archiveofourown.org/works/962240) by [elenorasweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenorasweet/pseuds/elenorasweet). 



> I would like to add a notice to this because i believe it's very important to remind people:  
> I like dark things. There will be parts of this story that are very much less than sweet and adorable; some parts will be very sad. I will warn you in the tags and before each chapter/story what will be included within each one. Please let me know if I forget to do this or if I forgot to add a trigger warning, or have messed up some Middle Earth Canon. I did my best with that last one.  
> I am also in the process of job hunting and surviving college; my free time is few and far between. Updates will be sporadic and I apologize but reality takes priority.  
> I hope you all enjoy the story regardless, and thank you to elanorasweet for drawing that wonderful picture and correcting my Middle Earth lore.

_This is a story written for elenorasweet, who wrote a story for a prompt about a multicultural family for Bombur, who reportedly has a large family (whether this is Tolkien-compliant or not I cannot remember, it’s been a long while since I ventured into the Appendix of Return of the King or the Hobbit in general. First Tolkien story btw so let’s see how this goes.)_

_These are a series of Drabbles, some of them in a “Happy-Ending” au where the events of BOFA end more pleasantly than canon._

_Some of them are not, the temptation to write dark fics is just far too great for me to resist. In any case I will alert you which au they are in._

_As some of these are dark I feel obligated to include trigger warnings with each chapter to alert the readers (that is, to alert you) of any potential triggering situations. Do not be alarmed; trigger warnings will go in the tags and before the stories themselves._

_READ THE NOTES BEFORE EACH CHAPTER_

_Also: I am absolutely terrible with time. The dates and ages of the characters are utterly skewed beyond repair, so I’ve avoided making references to canon dates and events; I’d only shame myself As a fan because I can’t keep track of lifespans for shit._

_Anyway here are the stories, or rather, here’s what I spent homework time doing as opposed to actual work._

 

 

 

Building a Family

 

            Bombur met Arunn in the kitchens of a Human tavern that he, Bofur, and Bifur were staying at while venturing for work before settling in Ered Luin. He had signed on as a temporary cook while he and his kin were selling toys in the small village, after hearing that the tavern’s cook was on some form of medical leave. When inquiring about how the man was injured the tavern owner just sighed and told the ginger dwarf that he’d find out eventually, and that he was the third person he’d hired this week alone for the job.

 

            Undeterred, Bombur went to work on his first night determined to do his best and bring home some cash. Bofur and Bifur swore up and down that he was the best chef this side of the Misty Mountains and that he was sure to be a hit, but Bombur was far too modest to believe them.

 

            Upon entering the back door of the Tavern and turning into the kitchen, he was greeted to the sight of an auburn-haired banshee _howling_ in rage at what appeared to be three adolescent human boys and a hulking, middle-aged human. The four men, for all they outsized and outnumbered her, were cowering, the three boys attempting to make themselves smaller (nearly impossible with their gangly, teenage limbs) and trying to hide behind the adult, who in turn looked about ready to use them as meat shields against the furious woman screaming at them.

 

            “I HAVE VERY FEW EXPECTATIONS IN MY KITCHEN,” the woman raged, brandishing a ladle as if it were a sword, or more accurately, a switch, “ONE OF WHICH IS THAT MY EMPLOYEES KEEP TO THE RULES. THE MOST IMPORTANT OF WHICH IS TO ALWAYS WASH ONE’S HANDS BEFORE WORK, AND DURING. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY ILLNESSES CAN BE AVOIDED IF ONE WASHES?” she glared at the men, who made no attempt to answer her inquiry. Bombur shifted awkwardly, torn between speaking up or simply watching the scene unfold. Then again, that ladle looked awfully dangerous….

 

            “FURTHERMORE I EXPECT THIS KITCHEN TO BE CLEAN. NO DIRTY STATIONS, NO DIRTY UTENSILS, ESPECIALLY WHEN DEALING WITH FOOD. AND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I WALK INTO WORK TODAY, EXPECTING A LARGE DINNER RUSH? I FIND MY IDIOT KITCHEN HANDS UNWASHED, USING DIRTIED UTENSILS TO HANDLE THE MEAT, AND ON TOP OF THAT HAVE BEEN DRINKING ON THE JOB!” Bombur was impressed; the iron ladle she was furiously gripping was beginning to bend in her hands. Bombur figured that this dwarrow dam was likely the reason the previous chefs had all quit rather quickly and decided that this kitchen was undoubtedly her territory and he was merely an underling to her rage.

 

            The one-sided shouting match continued for another few moments before the Tavern’s owner walked in and stated that the dinner rush was beginning and that he’d like to get work started soon if that was at all agreeable. The banshee woman, with a sigh, sent the four cowed men off to wash properly and get ready to cook like all Mordor was at their heels.

            Bombur decided he liked this dwarf woman, and hoped she wouldn’t find him inadequate in his cooking skills; he quite possibly feared for his life if she found otherwise.

***

 

* * *

 

 

 

            By week four of his job, his suspicions of there being only one true leader (he lovingly dubbed her “alpha dog” as if she were a warg or wolf and they her pack) in this kitchen outfit were confirmed, and he willingly did as she said without complaint.

 

            She warmed up to him, not only because he was another dwarf, but because, according to her own words, he was “the only man with a lick of sense in this Valar-forsaken kitchen.”

          Evidently Bombur met her kitchen standards; with a relieved sigh the man accepted this fact, along with the notion that the other four men he worked alongside would frequently look to him for guidance (and protection he supposed) from the rage of the Dwarrowdam.

 

            Outside of work she was a lovely woman; he had shared a few drinks with her after their shift on occasion, and the two got to know each other quite well. He found out her name was Arunn, daughter of Adunn, who had fled Erebor’s destruction after leading most of the kitchen staff to safety from the dragon fire. She was the eldest of four children (her mother was a lucky dam when it came to childbirth) and after deciding to set out on her own, Arunn travelled most of the lands between Ered Luin and the Shire, seeking work where she could find it and mastering her craft.

 

 

            Bombur shared his own story, and introduced her to his cousin and brother one night after their shift was through, to their great joy. She was a force to be reckoned with, with an outgoing personality and a stubborn will to match that of the most hard-headed dwarf. Bifur found her quite kindly, and was pleased with the fact she took his head injury in stride without a second glance. Bofur began to tease Bombur about weddings, and asked when he could expect nieces and nephews running about below foot.

 

            Both Bifur and Bofur agreed that the lass was a perfect match for their Bombur, balancing out his shyness and modesty with her own personality and her “I do what I want” attitude. But most of all they agreed that both Bombur and Arunn shared a similar kindness that underlined everything they did; they both sought to care for others, regardless of their race, gender, or relationship.

            Bombur ignored it mostly, until he found himself actually longing for her presence. He came to realize his feelings slowly, and it really only hit him that she may possibly be his one after she managed to wrestle out three drunken men during a brawl, kicking them from the tavern with a steel-toed boot to the ass. Shortly after he realized just how kind she was, when he saw her give the leftover food from that night’s dinner to a few starving children hanging around behind the kitchen.

 

            She was a better chef than he, Bombur admitted admiringly to Bofur one night; she ran her kitchen with all the ferocity and strict ruling of a General in the army, but when work was all said and done, and the last pots scrubbed and the floor mopped, she was as soft and kind as a kitten. Bombur liked that the most about her, because he too was kind. He realized his swift friendship with her had turned to love fairly quickly, and that he could picture her in his family beads, in his everyday life, easily.

            So he began to do what dwarves before him had done for centuries; court her. Now, he was right shite in a forge, and the last time Bifur had let him use any form of carving tool save a carving knife for meat Bombur had nearly taken off his thumb. Bofur offered to forge the beads for him, provided that Bombur draw out the details, an offer Bombur quickly agreed to, but with some slight shame. Courting gifts should be made by one’s own hand after all.

            So he started courting the woman he loved differently; he began by making her small snacks. She found small bags of cookies, loaves of hand-kneaded breads, boxes of sweets, any small confection that he could make turned up near her coat by the end of each shift.

 

 

            Curious she began to poke around, inquiring around town to see who had made such lovely and thoughtful gifts, and not daring to hope that they might be a courting gift. Her inquiries led to Bofur, who for the life of him could not tell a lie nor keep a secret (especially when held up against the mine walls with the blunt end of a pick-axe by an overly-insistent dwarrowdam.) who ratted out his brother quite quickly.

 

          She was honestly touched; she feared she had been too headstrong for anyone to wish to settle down with. Pleased with this information, Arunn began to reverse-court Bombur, leaving small gifts of her own in his coat pockets (rare spices she had purchased with hard-earned money, small baked goods, new ladles and utensils she had hand-forged… she liked the way his face lit up when he found them).

 

           With both parties accepting the courting gifts, Bombur decided to move things up a notch and start making full meals, inviting her over to dinner (after he kicked his relatives out for the night). She retaliated by stepping up her game, creating full banquets for him (that his kin also were not invited to, save for the very first one to be polite).             It was a grand show of who could cook the most, the best, and in the least amount of time to impress their intended, and it was a source of endless amusement for the humans in the town and Bofur and Bifur, who were making quite a bit of coin at the tavern via the betting.

            Soon though, Arunn wore Bombur’s beads in her lovely, auburn hair, and Bombur had her braid her own beads into his magnificent ginger beard.

            The two were married shortly after that event, under the light of a bright, spring sun in late April. It was a simple affair, but it was nonetheless beautiful. (the food was top-notch as well, much to the joy of the attendees.)


	2. Adopting the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The second child is found in the wake of tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> minor oc death  
> Sorrow  
> mentions of miscarriage.  
> homelessness
> 
>  
> 
> that's all, though i don't know if I did it justice. let me know what you think please!

Finding the First.

_This story includes references to past child-death and homelessness. Also death of a minor character or two. I am not really paying attention to timelines here, because I am absolutely horrible with dates and such. So the winter mentioned can be interpreted as the Fell Winter of the shire, but it’s not intended to be._

 

 

 

            They had tried, like many dwarrowdam in that age, to have children multiple times. The first pregnancy was conceived in Ered Luin, but Arunn lost the child during the second month, which was the first of many frigid months that long, horrible winter.

            Still they tried, and would keep trying, for it is not in the nature of Dwarves to give up, no matter how bleak the situation may seem. They are Durin’s Folk and Mahal damn them if they surrendered when there was still hope.

* * *

 

 

 

            It was a horrible, hot day when they found Borobur, and the streets smelled of garbage and decay. It was the kind of summer day where one wished to simply destroy the sun if it would cause it to beat less mercilessly, and though mountain air is dry most seasons today it was the farthest from. Many a dwarrow’s hair frizzled in the humidity, curling up at the ends and dampening with sweat as the day proceeded. Heat sickness was a significant danger for the people of Ered Luin that day, among other things.

 

            Oìn was in the midst of treating a dehydrated patient when suddenly an alarm bell rang out through the mountains; this particular alarm sounded when a mine shaft collapsed, a horrifying event but often a necessary risk when trying to run a mine.

            Passing off the mildly dehydrated patient to a capable apprentice, Oìn grabbed his medical bag and rushed toward the mines quickly, praying that no one he knew was injured in the collapse.

            He passed Arunn and Bifur on the way there, both clearly worried about the fates of their kin, (Bombur was the mine’s chef) and they followed his steps quickly.

 

            Reaching the mouth of the mines he found the mine director shouting orders as his workers scrambled to remove rubble and corpses from the collapsed shaft, in an effort to reach survivors. Oìn breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his brother Gloìn sitting with a clearly concussed Bofur, whose temple was bleeding profusely. Bombur sat beside him, the body of a young Dwarrow lying not far from him. Oìn set to work immediately, as more Dwarrow were pulled from the shaft.

 

            Arunn sighed in relief upon finding her husband and brother-in-law safe and relatively sound, and she rushed to greet them, pausing only when Bifur grabbed her shoulder and gestured to the saddened looks of grief on their kins’ faces. It appeared that the dead Dwarrow near the two seemed to be the cause of it.

            “He was a new father,” Bofur said sadly, gazing at the body as Bifur brushed dirt from his cousin’s face, “his wife died in childbirth. They never even named the boy, but he was so proud… he’s had to leave the child in the care of neighbors because neither of them had families to speak of, and he had to come to work today to pay off the midwife for her services.”

            “Were you close to him?” Bifur signed in iglishmek, gazing with sympathy at his cousins.

            “Aye, he was a good lad, and a hard worker… he’d have been a great father,” Bofur replied, blinking back tears.

            “Wonder what will happen to the fatherless babe?” Bombur asked softly. Children were a rare blessing to the Dwarrow, so he had no worries that the child would be taken care of, but by whom? The thought nagged at him, tugging at his heart more so than the shock of the collapsed mine and the loss of a co-worker.

 

            Arunn nodded sadly, pulling her husband close to her and holding him tight. However in her mind gears were turning. The dead miner had been close to her brother-in-law; perhaps something could be done….

***

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

            A few days after the collapse, Arunn vanished for a few hours, her husband near frantic trying to find her. When she reappeared it was with a small, white bundle in her arms. A white, _wiggling_ bundle.

 

            “Bombur, I have a surprise,” Arunn said with a smile, depositing her load into her husband’s arms. It was an infant Dwarrow, his cheeks red and fuzzy with the beginnings of a strawberry blond beard. His head was already full of hair and fuzzy, and he gripped the blanket with tiny, strong fingers.

            Bombur beamed with pride, looking excitedly up at his wife as if she had delivered the Arkenstone straight to him.

             “He’s ours, Bombur,” Arunn said, running a gentle hand over the soft, baby hair covering the child’s head, “I was able to get custody over him… He’s ours.,” she repeated, her voice filled with all the love a mother could possibly possess.

 

            Bombur gazed at his first son with pride; though the child was not his own, he still loved him with the ferocity of a father.

            “Ours,” The chef whispered in agreement, silently thanking Mahal for this blessing, while grieving for the child’s birth parents.

            They presented him to Bifur and Bofur, who welcomed the little lad with open arms and beaming, Broadbeam grins. Bifur, as the clan elder, was given the right to braid the child’s first braid, complete with the first bead, when the boy grew old enough.

            The child was named Borobur, and was the first of many blessings to come.


	3. Rescuing the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second child, one of an undying race, had to be rescued first.   
> (in which Thorin isn't a dick to an elf for once)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE:
> 
> ABUSE OF A CHILD  
> CHILD ABANDONMENT  
> CHILD NEGLECT  
> DEAD OC  
> RACISM (Dwarves and elves)

The Unwanted Elf.

_Mentions of child abandonment and neglect. AND ALSO PHYSICAL HARM TO A CHILD IN THIS CHAPTER I AM SORRY._

_Also racism against elves and humans will be prevalent in the near future. Like, to a physical level._

_Also I know jack shit about lore and maps. I did my best with what little knowledge I have, I forgot if the dwarves of the company were from ered Luin or the blue mountains or if those places were the same thing. I apologize in advance and will correct my mistakes if someone points them out._

 

 

            The second child was seven years younger than the first and again taken in willingly. This child was immortal, fair, and a tree-shagging Elf brat, if one was to listen to the insults spewed by hateful neighbors (the Ur family were not ones to handle hate and intolerance lightly; too many times had Bifur been the object of mockery and spite for his injuries and the mental damage the ax had done for them to support any form of intolerance. For this family it was the character of a person that made for who that person was, not their appearance or even their race. There were just as many bad Dwarrow as there were bad Humans; just as many bad Dwarrows as there were cruel Elves, and the actions of a few people should not damn the entire race.)

 

            It was Bombur who found the child this time, surrounded by a group of angry-looking Dwarves bearing wooden clubs and sticks. He had spotted the ensemble on his way back to Ered Luin from a job in a small town by the sea. The group of Dwarrow loomed over the child with sneering grins and spiteful words, bearing weapons of all sorts.

 

            _Mercenaries_ , Bombur thought, intending to walk away and leave them be until he heard the soft sobbing and high pitched whines of a child in pain.

 

            Bombur saw red, and by the time he had finished the mercenaries were either dead or had fled. Bombur looked toward where he heard the whimpering from and found a dirtied form of a child. Not just any child at that, Bombur noted, but a child with hair as golden as the sun beneath a layer of dirt, and pointed ears. The youngling’s once fine clothes were torn and tattered, and his (her? Bombur couldn’t tell the gender of the child from looking at them) would-be fair skin was covered in weeks of grime, dried mud and what was likely blood and bruises. The little one was clearly an Elf, though what he was doing so far from the elven settlement in the Gray Havens was beyond Bombur.

 

            The child possessed all the grace of a half-drowned kitten, Bombur thought, as he helped the young one from the ground and carried them into a tavern where he asked for a bath to be drawn. The child tensed up, but went along with the strange Dwarf, too exhausted and terrified to do otherwise.

 

            The Elfling was a young lad, hardly over the age of 24 (that is, 6 years old mentally by human reckoning.) and as rare as young Dwarrow were to the race of Dwarves, Elflings were far more rare. The fact that such a young Elf (he was hardly bigger than Borobur, where were the tiny Elf’s parents!?) was so far from home, despite being quite close to the Gray Havens, was an oddity in and of itself. Bombur was curious and concerned, more so that the boy was utterly alone rather than the fact that he was outside of the nearest settlement of Elves.

 

            “Where are your parents, lad?” he questioned as the boy ate, praying the child knew Westron and understood him.

            The little one for his part was silent for a time, shifting awkwardly as he chewed his food quickly.

            “Ada sailed over before I was born… Mama’s in the halls,” the child said, sadly “I got lost and wandered around lots before I got here.”

 

            Bombur questioned the little one a little bit more, asking whether he had family nearby (“no” was the disappointing and horrific answer) whether he had a name (A shrug of the shoulders and a small wince was followed by another negative answer, but then the lad was hit in the head several times by large planks of wood brandished by mercenaries so that could have explained the lack of memory) until finally the Elf asked if he could go to sleep. Bombur helped him into bed and sat by the fireplace in their room, pondering what he should do next.

 

            Naturally he thought he should get into contact with the nearest Elf settlement; however the child had been wandering around these parts for a good deal of time, hungry, dirty, and lost and no elf had come to his aid. The thought made him shudder angrily, because Elf children were rarer than those of the Dwarves, and to have let a child go unattended for so long was a grave sin. As a parent himself, Bombur wanted to take the Elf boy home with him, place his braids in his hair, and call him son, the protective father in him rearing in righteous fury at the thought of a boy left alone.

 

            However there was the grudge between Mahal’s children and those of Illuvatar. The Elf would be safe in his home, and he was certain Arunn would love him as much as they loved Borobur, but not all Dwarrow would be as accepting as they were. What if his own brother and cousin disproved of the adoption? What if the neighbors began to threaten the family, murmur about killing them in their sleep for allowing a traitorous tree-shagger into the community? Would the laws of Ered Luin cause strife for the child? Bombur did not wish for the Elf to grow up in a land that rejected and hated him, surrounded by few people who would show him kindness.

 

            But the child needed raising, and the Elves around these parts were clearly not vigilant enough for the job (the father abandoned the pregnant mother to sail West, the coward) and he would not hand the child off to a Human family, who would die before he even came close to reaching maturity, leaving the young one alone once again. He could ask the Rangers for aid, but they visited Ered Luin very rarely, if ever, and could take a long time to deliver messages. If Rivendell were easier to locate, and for that matter closer and safer, he would bring the child there to be raised, but he had neither the time nor the means for such a venture. That left one option open.

Looking at the sleeping Elfling on the room’s lone bed, Bombur made up his mind; Mahal damn him if he left anyone- a child nonetheless- to suffer.

* * *

 

***

 

 

The guards at the gate would not let him enter.

Bombur and the Elf child stood in the freezing cold winds that battered the settlement in the early winter, and glared at the guards in fury.

 

“You would deny me the right to return home? I’ve done no crime!” he growled, and the Elf child gripped his coat.

“You may enter the city,” the guard said, annoyed, “The tree-shagger may not. His kind ain’t welcome here.”

“He’s a child abandoned by his kin and left to wander alone! You’d let him freeze and starve?!” Bombur shouted, wishing he was more intimidating. The Elf child was making a fine attempt at sinking into the ground, pressing himself into Bombur’s wide girth, trying to disappear.

“Still. He’s an Elf,” another guard piped up glaring at the child in question as if he were a rat, or perhaps a wolf in poorly disguised sheep’s clothing, “I understand where you’re coming from Mr. Bombur, but he ain’t welcome, nor anyone who supports his kind. They’re right bastards the lot of them.”

 

Bombur couldn’t believe his ears; the Elf beside him was a child! He had done nothing to earn the spite of the guards, Elf or not. Bombur had always believed that children, no matter what race they may be, were precious and should be protected. To treat a child thusly was disgusting.

“It’s all right Master Dwarf,” The child said softly, hardly audible over the howling mountain winds, “I can leave and then you may go home.”

Bombur shook his head furiously, gripping the lad’s shoulder comfortingly, “My home is your home. I’ll not be going back lest you come with me.” The child looked like he was attempting to hide a grateful smile.

 

Bombur’s saving grace came in the form of a bedraggled Dwarf walking up beside them, clearly returning from work abroad. He was majestic; a long black mane whipped wildly in the wind, and a worn, leather coat was billowing majestically behind him. He was accompanied by another Dwarf, tall, bald at the top of the head, and heavily tattooed.

“Lord Thorin!” Bombur exclaimed, surprised at the timing of the sudden appearance of the nobleman.

“Master Bombur. A surprise to see you out here,” The lord said, before spotting the little one trying to hide behind the Dwarf.

“Who is this?” Dwalin asked, and the little Elf went wide eyed at the sight of the many weapons the warrior carried.

“That’s a lot of blades,” The tiny Elf whispered, almost in awe.

“Why do you have an Elf child with you?” Thorin asked Bombur, managing to sound both curious and threatening at the same time.

 

Bombur gulped, his hand resting protectively on his Elf (yes _his_ Elf, because he had sworn to take care of the lad, had he not? He would die for his new son, just as he would die protecting Borobur, or his brother and cousin, or his beloved wife). That didn’t mean he wasn’t any less afraid of Thorin II Oakenshield or Dwalin son of Fundin, and he was prepared to grab the child and run if the need arose.

 

“He was abandoned by his kin,” Bombur said, gruffly, praying that the two would not treat the child as poorly as others had, “I found him being attacked mercilessly by Dwarves, and I could not let a child be harmed. Nor will I let my son be harmed.” He finished with finality, his free fist shaking.

“Your son?” Dwalin rumbled, curiously, “You’ve already claimed him as kin?”

 

It was odd, thinking about it; Bombur had met the child little less than a week ago, and he already bore the same love for the elfling that he bore for Borobur. But Bombur supposed a father’s love was unconditional, or it should be, and his heart was far too soft to deny a child in need.

“Aye. I need to ask Bifur first obviously, but the guards will not let the child through the gate,” Bombur said. “He is young yet, and though he is an elf I fear he may still fall ill.”

 

Thorin pondered the child before him, thought lines etched deep in his forehead. On the one hand, he valued children as much as every dwarrow or dwarrowdam did, and leaving one to eventually freeze or be eaten by wolves or wargs was not in his nature; however on the other hand he resented elves with most of his heart (the part not reserved for loathing orcs and dragons that is).

Then again the child shifting awkwardly, tiny, terrified, and _Mahal damnit_ looking very lonely was not much of an elf yet, was he? There weren’t any laws preventing the elf from actually entering the settlement; the fact that none did was just an unspoken social law generated by lingering resentment of elves for deeds long passed.

But this elf was not Thranduil, and this elf was definitely not responsible for what had happened back then. And despite how much the dwarf loathed elves, Thorin could not bring himself to leave a child to die.

 

“Let them both in,” Thorin called to the guards, daring them to disobey. The guards, upon seeing who gave the command, were quick to follow the order. Bombur’s beaming grin of gratitude was bright in the dark night.

“Thank you Lord Thorin,” He said, with a bow, before grabbing his charge by the hand and guiding him into the city.

The elf child looked back at the dwarf King with wide blue eyes and gave a heartbreakingly grateful smile.

Mahal had he gone soft.

* * *

 

***

 

 

When he reached his cozy little house, the chimney was smoking pleasantly, and he could smell his wife’s biscuits baking in the oven. He loved his wife’s cooking almost as much as he loved her, and could not wait to embrace her when they arrived at the house. Still though, he kept an even pace; little legs, even with an elf’s stride, took longer to catch up to fully grown ones.

He hesitated briefly before opening the door, worried that his family would reject the new child. He could not bear to see the elfling cast out once again. He would not stand for it, and though he loved his family he would fight for the child as well (he had taken him in. He would not abandon him just because his family did not approve, even if their disapproval and rejection would hurt worse than a dagger to the heart).

His thought process was cut off by the door slamming open and him getting an armful of excited, young dwarf.

 

“ADAD!” Borobur exclaimed excitedly, “You’re back!” he could hear his wife chuckle madly from inside, and Bifur’s grunting chortles filled the room alongside hers.

“I am little one! And I’ve brought home a friend,” Bombur said cheerfully, setting down his young son to step back and allow the elfling through the door into the warm light.

There was silence in the room for a moment as the four occupants looked at the elfling surprised.

“He has no one else,” Bombur said in a stoic tone, “I saved him from being killed.”

Arunn looked infuriated at that.

 

“Who would dare harm a child?!” She hissed, cracking the clay mug in her hands angrily. She felt her mother bear instincts rise up in fury and anger on behalf of the young elf. She had already decided to take him in upon seeing the child’s face.

Bofur opened his mouth to reply but Bifur cut him off with a grunt, standing and walking over to the trembling elf child to kneel at his eye level and stare for a moment.

They locked gazes for a long while, Bifur cocking his head curiously to one side as the young elf did the same. The next moment had Bifur scooping the youngling into his arms in a gentle hug.

 

 _“It won’t be easy, raising an elf child,”_ The eldest of the Ur clan noted in his signed language, upon settling down with their newest member (because a bear hug from Bifur was as much a sign of acceptance into the family as the family braid was) in his lap, _“other dwarrow will complain, will mock, and will be cruel.”_

“I know, cousin,” Bombur sighed, “But he is my son as much as Borobur is. And I will protect him as much as I would Borobur, if Arunn is all right with it,” he added hastily.

“Of course I’m all right with it.” the beautiful dwarrowdam said, her expression motherly, “he’s a fine young one. And he is ours.” She planted a kiss on the elfling’s forehead before going to see if she could round up clothing that fit the child.

“Aye, he is ours,” Bombur agreed heartily.

“What shall we call him?” Bofur asked cheerfully, ruffling the elf child’s golden locks affectionately.

 

“Binur,” Arunn replied, returning to the room with a shirt and pants that would fit the child, “we’ll go shopping for more clothes tomorrow while you three are working,” she decided, as she plucked Binur from Bifur’s lap and led him to the upstairs room to change.

Borobur’s nose wrinkled slightly, as realization he had a sibling sunk in and he turned expectantly to his father.

“Adad, does this mean I have to share the bed now?” he grumbled.

The Ur clan laughed.


	4. The Third One and the Fourth One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third one and the Fourth one were of their blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> mentions of miscarriage  
> Racism  
> prejudice and hate crimes committed against children- no graphic injuries though.

The Third One and the Fourth One

_Borobur is 7 years older than  Binur, who is the human equivalent of ___ in this one. For the first part in any case._

_Mentions of miscarriage. Also of racism. Because I don’t think some dwarves would take well to an elf in their midst. Also abuse of a veteran with a terrible injury._

 

 

Boftur was born to the Ur Clan during the late autumn, when the winds howled like wolves to signal the coming cold. Oìn was not confident the babe would live through the winter, but thrive he did, much to his older brothers’ amusement.

However, not all was joyous for the small family in these days. No, in fact things were quite hard on them. The neighbors, in the years that had passed since Binur had joined the family, grew cold toward their family, refusing to let Borobur and Binur interact with their children, or outright insulting the Ur clan.

 _“Broken,”_ some of the dwarrowdams nearby said, “ _taking in an elf like that. Must be insane, just like their poor cousin.”_

“ _Traitorous,”_ whispered dwarrow in the nearby tavern, “ _Mahal damn them, that damn tree-shagger son as well.”_

 

Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur found that the longer they stayed in this area of Ered Luin, the harder finding work got. Nasty rumors spread about the family, how they were unstable, drunken fools, and often employers were reluctant at best to hire any of them.

Binur on occasions when Bombur would return home from another failed attempt to find a job, would sink into what Arunn claimed to be a rather elegant temper, blaming himself for his family’s woes. He often wouldn’t accept their claims otherwise, until Borobur (or Bofur, with a cheery grin) gave him a stiff whack to the head to remind him that the Ur clan didn’t give a hoot whether he was an elf or a dwarf, he was _theirs._

_(Even when bricks and stones were thrown through the windows of their tiny house; even when fellow dwarrow children ran Borobur and Binur out of the market square one day shouting slurs and insults while throwing rotten things at their backs, no one blamed Binur for anything that happened. Binur tried to keep up a smile, to be happy at all times so that maybe the dwarves of their home would come to trust him; he tried avidly to hide the hurt when he realized that they probably never would.)_

 

But the strife of that year still struck. Arunn’s pregnancy was hard that year; and work abroad and at home was scarce. People sought someone to blame for their strife, and it was one drunken sod of a dwarf in a dirty, dingy tavern that suggested that perhaps it was a curse the elf brat placed on Ered Luin.

The mocking and hatred grew worse as the rumor took hold; people refused to do business with Arunn in the market place (save for one family, the Ri family, the youngest of whom took to asking Binur about anything he remembered about the elves. It took time but eventually the older two grew to trust the elfling) and Bofur nearly lost his job in the mines.

 

Things only escalated from there; the dwarrow who once scorned Bifur for his injuries began claiming he was a madman and violent, spreading rumors that he was so unstable he would kill a man for looking at him wrong. The rumors were enough to get the guards to be suspicious of the family’s activities.  Once, Bifur and Bofur (who helped with the toymaking when he wasn’t mining) went to their stall one morning to find their wares torn apart and the stall upended, the tiny wood, metal, and stone toys and trinkets lying scattered in broken piles like dead soldiers on a field. Slurs against the “elf brat” were carved into the wooden stall, death threats littered the ground.

 

When they reported the vandalism to the guards, the two were mocked by the men on shift, who simply told them that there was no use trying to find the culprits, as Ered Luin was a large place and this area was known for crime.

The final straw was in month eight of Arunn’s pregnancy, when Borobur and Binur came home leaning on one another after going out to run an errand for their pregnant mother. Binur had a black eye and blood trickling down his forehead, and he was supporting a limping Borobur who was holding his right wrist tightly, the appendage slowly swelling.

“We got in a fight,” the two boys said, as Bofur went to call for Oìn.

Binur was practically shaking in fear, murmuring things in an elfish tongue.

 

As it turns out, Dwalin was the first to arrive at their house, even before Oìn, a rather grave look on his face. The guardsman was quickly invited into the home, and offered a seat at the table (he left his weapons by the door, luckily.) Arunn was worried; having the guardsman show up at their house was a sure sign of something gone very wrong, and she was certain to get answers for what had transpired that sent her two boys home beaten and bruised. She was about to ask what happened when Binur entered the room to ask where the medical salve was, and instantly went on high alert. Arunn couldn’t help but notice her boy go three shades paler. She moved to comfort him, but Bifur beat her there first.

 

“What’s all this about then?” Arunn asked cautiously, eyeing Dwalin from her seat at the table. “My boys come home bruised and beaten after clearly getting in a fight, and next we find ourselves playing host to the head guardsman. Any particular reason why?” she sounded practically vicious.

“Look, I wouldn’t normally put any stock in nasty rumors, and I’ve full confidence in your parenting abilities, but the fact of the matter is, yer two boys instigated a brawl with a guardsman, and I’d like some answers.” the dwarf said, shrugging.

 

Arunn’s head whipped around to pierce Binur with a terrifying glare. The boy for his part attempted to shrink behind Bifur, a feat that was growing more difficult as he grew taller. Arunn opened her mouth to demand answers when Borobur limped out of the kitchen using the wall as support.

“It wasn’t Binur’s fault Amad. That man started it. He followed us around the market whisperin’ lies and rumors as loudly as he could!” the boy protested, “He told Binur that we didn’t want him, just like his own people didn’t want him, and told us that our family was a blight on Ered Luin. So I punched him in the gut.”

Bifur’s glare settled on Dwalin, daring the guardsman to counteract Borobur’s statement. For his part, the guard looked furious.

“Is this true?” Dwalin asked, his voice a growl, “My men started the brawl?”

“Aye, and they didn’t stop with one guard either. He called his friends and they started hurling things at us. Broken pottery, fruit…. It isn’t the first time we’ve been chased from the market either,” Binur said, “Borobur got whacked in the leg for his troubles, and I think the fall broke his wrist… I’m sorry for… well whatever I did that made everyone so angry, but at least take it out on me and not my brother.” The elf was clearly unsettled by the fact his family was suffering for taking him in.

“It’s not your fault lad,” Dwalin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “you don’t deserve their ire. But the fact remains that my guards are bigoted idiots who pick fights with children.”

 

At this point Bofur had returned with Oìn who scolded Borobur for walking on his injured leg and ushered the boys into the kitchen.

“This isn’t the first problem we’ve had with your guards,” Bofur pointed out, a scowl lining his usually cheerful face, “Someone vandalized our toy stand and the guards all but laughed us out into the streets. They, and others too I suppose, spawn nasty rumors about my cousin and my brother, and it’s wearing on our patience.”

            “As you heard from my sons, this is not the first time they’ve been chased from the market either,” Arunn said, “I understand the hatred of elves, Dwalin, I really do, but if one more dwarrowdam looks at me and my children in disgust I cannot promise you that I won’t react violently,” Arunn finished with a grave smile.

            “I understand, but the from what I’ve heard today, it seems that it’s becoming too dangerous for your family to remain in the city,” Dwalin replied cautiously, almost reluctantly, “I’ve an ear on the streets who has said he has heard rumors; the worst kind of rumors. A group of drunks down in one of the taverns were overheard planning a mob of some sort. Others have brought ideas to the city council based on superstition and lies, calling for them to kick your family from Ered Luin entirely. I know better, and so do most others, but I think it’d be best if you moved your family somewhere safer.”

 

            Bifur glared and began to sign furiously, grunting in khuzduhl as he went. Bofur translated for him, though it was not really necessary.

            “We don’t have the money to move,” Bofur admonished, angrily, “and where would we go besides? No town will take a family of dwarves, and no Dwarf settlement would take a family that includes an elf. You know that. Besides, Arunn is pregnant; the child is due soon and we can’t risk her health or the baby’s. You’re an- Bifur I am not translating that, there are little ears nearby and Binur enjoys learning new swearwords whenever he gets the chance,” Bofur finished with a raised brow.

            “I never said move out of the settlement,” Dwalin retorted, “I merely said move out of the city walls. It may be safer for your family.”

            “And risk being attacked by goblins or wolves, or worse?!” Arunn exclaimed furiously. “No. We’ll be staying here, thank you very much. If anyone wants to complain about it, they’ll find my fists have plenty to say about their faces.” She glared right back at Dwalin’s face, and the guardsman laughed.

            “All right then, I can accept that. Just be tell your lads to be careful on the streets,” He lowered his voice here, hoping the two little ones weren’t listening, “lots o’ dwarrow aren’t above hurting a young one these days. I don’t want to have to file a report on a child’s murder.” And with that the guard left.

 

            Bombur came home to his wife nervously pacing, and Bifur worried stiff.  The dinner conversation that night was long and dark. It was decided they’d move neighborhoods at least; there were a few houses nearer the city wall and farther from the city’s interior that were cheap and large enough for a growing family.  They seemed a safer option than leaving the city’s walls.

            They stayed in Ered Luin’s center for another month, just long enough for the new baby, a boy they lovingly named Boftur, to be born, before moving out of the interior of the settlement and to the wall itself. It was a bit unsafe- if any army were to attack the settlement, their house would be the first to burn- but the people of the walls were much more accepting of Binur, having spent more time dealing with other races for business and otherwise. The boys for once were able to make friends.

* * *

 

***

 

Their next child too was of Bombur and Arunn’s own flesh and blood, and was a true blessing indeed, for though children were rare for Dwarrow, female children were even rarer. They named their ginger daughter Vidunn, and she was treated as a princess in their house. Boftur was twelve years old (about three by human reckoning) and Borobur and Binur even older, when their sister arrived, and she was like a symbol of a new turn in the family’s welfare. By this time, Binur was more readily accepted by the community (he was quite good at spotting cheap goods and when someone was trying to cheat a dwarrow in a business deal) and for all that he was raised by dwarves, his natural talent at healing came through in a pinch.  Having a new sister to protect made him less likely to pick fights, as he wanted her to have friends among the dwarves when she grew older. Binur’s personality grew more cheerful and bright, closer to his uncle Bofur’s optimistic outlook on life, and with that optimism came a good sense of humor. (Much to Borobur’s dismay, as he was often the object of the good-natured teasing.).

 

By now, Binur had grown much too tall to continue to fit into normal-sized dwarrow clothing, and much to Bombur and Arunn’s dismay, it seemed he’d keep growing.

 

Vidunn was curious for a young dwarrowdam, and when she was old enough to toddle around the house, she’d follow her brothers everywhere. She was especially attracted to the tall, golden-haired elf, who would always take time from his wanderings to play with her (she demanded, when she grew old enough, that her hair be braided exactly like her brother Binur’s, because he was so cool and strong and kind. It was a nasty shock to her heart when she found out that not everyone thought the same of her brother, one that she never took kindly to, choosing to ignore the girls her age who called her brother names, and play with her older brothers and Oìn’s nephew instead.)

 

In all, Vidunn’s birth seemed to mark a time of great happiness and welcoming for the Ur clan, who for the first time in years did not feel threatened by their own community for the way their family worked. Though life was quite hard, they managed to get through it together, for that is the way of Mahal’s children. However, unlike most Dwarrow families, which had very few children to speak of, the Ur clan was still growing. 


	5. Finding the Fifth and the Sixth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Infant and the Human were found. (technically there could be a seventh child)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:   
> OC death  
> Familial rejection (kind of shaming the character for getting pregnant in the first place)  
> child abandonment I guess (leaving a kid on the doorstep)  
> a woman is rejected for birthing a baby with no known father, while unmarried.   
> there are two endings for this- a happiness and rainbows au where nothing bad happens, and a canonical ending. ish.

** The Infant and the Human. **

_Warnings: Child abandonment, death of a minor oc, Quest nonsense. I have two endings, one in the happiness and rainbows au where you-know-what doesn’t happen (at this point you all should be prepared for BOFA but I’ll be kind and avoid spoilers for those who have yet to finish the book or see the film) and one for the canon ending._

 

            Evidently by the time the final two additions came to their house, they had built up a reputation for housing strays and providing a safe home. Bifur snorted and made good-natured jokes on their “collection” of children, but didn’t try to deny that the Ur clan, for all that they weren't wealthy or ancient, had become famous for their love of children. To highlight his point, the next child added to their brood was literally left at their doorstep.

 

Bolgur’s story was short and very to the point; he was 1 year of age (12 human months being the closest equivalent) and found on the Ur family doorstep one cold night in early fall. There was only a note from the child’s guardian, that stated the following:

 

_To the Ur Clan, most accepting of dwarrow._

_Please take care of my son. I have no family of which to speak of, and I do not know who the father is, nor can I myself afford to keep him. He is a good baby, and I know that your clan is very accepting of children, even those not of your flesh or race. I would not want the child raised any other way, nor secluded away in an orphanage until he comes of age, and then kicked to the streets to survive on his own._

_Thank you, and Mahal bless your house._

 

Bombur took one look at Arunn, and they turned to present their new child to the rest of the family, who accepted the baby boy without another word, and with beaming grins all around. They named him Bolgur and he was theirs.

* * *

 

***

 

The last child was not a dwarf, nor was she an elf; the baby in fact was a human, an infant girl, and her story is less simple than Bolgur’s. Humans were allowed to bring trade into the first wall of the dwarven settlement, but not beyond. It wasn’t unusual for one to see a tall man or woman come to the smithies located near the walls to do trade. However it was odd to see a human woman alone at night, when all the businesses were closed for the evening, and in the late summer, when there were few market festivals no less. Three years had passed since Bolgur’s adoption, and all members of the Ur clan had accepted the fact that it was unlikely they’d have any more children (Much to Vidunn’s annoyance. She was desperate for a little sister to do girl things with).

 

Needless to say they were wrong; the Valar have an interesting way of working things, and fate has an uncanny sense of humor.

Months before, the elder Ur males had followed Thorin II Oakenshield on his insane quest, much to Arunn’s dismay (she would not speak to Bombur for an entire week, and glared at anyone who tried to play peacemaker between them. Bifur and Bofur found it the height of amusement, and made even more coin off the neighbors than they had when the two were courting.) Eventually she relented and forgave them for their choices, making them swear an oath to come back to her in one piece and alive, or she’d go to Mahal’s forge herself and drag them back by the skin of their ears. The family’s farewell was long and sad, and the children put on brave faces, though they worried they’d never see the three again.

 

A little less than a month or two after they departed, the strange woman was seen. It was a particularly cold night, even if it was spring, and Arunn was out looking for Binur to scold him for breaking curfew again (honestly, the boy was getting out of hand with these nightly walks of his) when she found her son talking with a shrouded figure, who had collapsed on a bench in exhaustion.

 

“Amad!” he called to her, “She needs help.” The boy was as caring as she was, for all that he was sarcastic and silly. He could be downright serious when it came down to it, but it was rare enough for him to be. That’s how she knew it was serious business, and she trusted her son’s judgement. It turns out he had stumbled upon a human who seemed very ill; Arunn made her decision then and there.

“Take her hand Binur,” she said, “we’re going home.” And with that she took the human woman by the hand and turned to leave.

 

The two guided the human (obnoxiously tall human at that) back to their house and sat her down with a hot drink. She gave no name, only asked for a place to stay to birth her child. She was pregnant; her family had abandoned her, for they did not approve of the father, and the father of the child was missing, likely dead. He was a Ranger, and she had not heard from him in months.

 

“Please, I will do anything, just let me stay long enough to give birth,” The woman, painfully young by human standards, begged. She was clearly torn by grief and worry, and she was very sick from the flushed color of her cheeks, and her pale skin. Arunn could not say no, nor would she have. She didn’t ask the human for her name, and merely set the human up in Bofur’s old room. Arunn gave her some medicine and called for a healer to check on her in the morning.

 

(The healer clucked her tongue worryingly, despaired that the woman’s family had turned out a pregnant lass to the wilds of the world. She said the heartbreak the woman was experiencing was taking a toll on her immune system, and that the worry over her missing lover was adding to the stress. The months of wandering had not helped the woman in the slightest.

“It won’t be an easy pregnancy,” the healer said, “She may not have the strength to live through it. But I will do my best.”)

* * *

 

***

 

 

The woman worked around the house while Arunn was working in the kitchens of the palace, caring for the children and the home by keeping everything neat and in order. The children loved her as a sister, and Arunn adored her. However it was clear that the illness- the healer called it the “wasting” and said it was unusual in humans- was taking a toll on her body. As the months ticked down through her pregnancy, the woman- the children called her “sister wanderer” out of love- grew weaker. By the end of month eight she was bedridden and hardly awake.

 

Arunn despaired for the poor young woman, and prayed to Mahal that the pregnancy went well. Gloìn’s wife, for all she was nobility, had become a quick friend to Arunn through bonding over their missing husbands, and shared her sentiments. Being a gifted healer and skilled blacksmith and jewler (Oìn was rather relieved to have an apprentice in the woman) she often came down to check on the human woman while Arunn was at work.

 

It was the first day of winter- Durin’s day- when the child was born. Across the Misty Mountains, a hidden door was discovered, and a tiny hobbit was sneaking into a mountain to face a dragon; a city lay in wait, while one man prayed in vain to whoever deigned to listen that they’d be spared destruction; a king was falling to gold sickness before he even set foot in a forgotten treasury.

 

But in a tiny household, all focus (save a little, for one cannot forsake praying for kin when they are so far from home) was on the events taking place behind a locked door.

Arunn, Gloìn’s wife, and the healer were inside, the former acting as midwives to the woman, who was hardly lucid during her labor. It took hours, but in the end the weakened human was able to give birth to a healthy baby girl.

The mother, for all she was proud of her child, was very weak; she knew she was not long for this world, and said as much to Arunn, in the hours after the birth.

“When I go,” she stated, uncertainly, “Will you care for my child? She has nowhere else, no one else,” the woman was in tears, begging, her hand stroking the baby’s soft hair lovingly.

“Of course my dear,” Arunn said, “She will be treated as one of our own, just as you have been treated these last months.” Arunn swore, gripping the woman’s thin shoulder tightly.

 

The strength of the race of men runs thick through its people, their capacity to adapt and survive stunning even the hardened elves; the strength and capacity of their women to survive and adapt was even stronger, for it was to the women that in times of hardship and war the people looked to lead. It was to the mother a child would run for comfort and guidance. However in even the strongest of men and women there was a fragility that could be shattered at any moment; the young woman, for all she survived on her own for five months, was never able to recover that lost strength.

 

She died in the night, having only been able to feed and hold her child once. Arunn buried her in a human fashion the day after, after mourning her loss for one day. The grave was marked, “Sister Wanderer” and the children left flowers and metal beads. Shortly after the funeral, Ered Luin received news of Thorin’s successful quest, and dwarves began to travel east by the dozens, leaving their hard-won home for their heritage.

 

The Ur clan- those who did not go on the quest- began to pack their things as well. The daughter was named Makrun, and Arunn braided her hair with the family beads and braids when it grew long enough. The first 13 months of her life were spent on the road in harsh conditions. Arunn was worried that Makrun would not live to see the Mountain, but Makrun was a strong child and survived that harsh winter march east. However she was already babbling and ready to eat solid foods by the time they reached the edges of Mirkwood, and had already grown out of most of the hand-me-down clothes Arunn had available.

 

(The rate at which she grew was astounding; Binur bitterly complained that she’d be taller than him when she came of age -Mahal humans came of age young. Barely 18 if they were lucky!- And Arunn despaired that she’d run out of Binur’s hand-me-downs before the child reached 14. Vidunn was merely upset with worry that the tiny baby would outgrow her by the time she finally got interesting, but Borobur settled that worry quickly.

“She’s our sister, Vidunn,” he said sternly, “She’s stuck with us whether she likes it or not. And we’ll like her no matter how tall or how quickly she grows.”)

(Arunn had never been more proud of her children than in that moment. The bonds between siblings, no matter what race they were, or what age, were stronger than steel, and ran deeper than the roots of a mountain. No amount of insults, brawls, exclusions, taunts, or mockeries in the streets could tear her children apart. They were a family, if not in blood than in bond, and that was all that counted.)

* * *

 

***

 

They reached the Mountain on the first day of spring to find the gates wide open and ready to accept them. Grinning madly, Binur turned to Borobur and nudged him in the shoulder.

“Think they’ll let me in this time?” he asked jokingly, though worry underlined his sense of humor.

“Amad will beat them with her frying pans if they don’t,” Borobur smirked back.  This seemed to soothe Binur’s worry, for he straightened his shoulders (Arunn had been scolding him for slouching, even if it was only to accommodate his height) and strode forward confidently.

* * *

 

***

 

 

Bombur paced nervously, avidly trying to avoid biting his nails. He prayed his family made it through the journey alive and well. He and his brother and cousin, though scarred, had made it through the Battle of Five Armies in one piece (Bofur was not at all pleased about his permanent limp, but he did get his free beer after all, so he couldn’t complain much. Plus the new titles of “heroes of the mountain” were quite catchy, as was the money and status that came with them.) and now all he needed to know was that his family was safe.

 

(Bifur grunted his worry that Binur wouldn’t be allowed entrance to the city, but Thorin ensured he’d be fine. The idiot king and his nephews had pulled through the battle by the skin of their teeth, and that red-haired elf captain made no small mercies when she reminded the Durins who pulled them back from the brink of death- twice in Kili’s case.)

Soon the last caravan to make its way to the mountain- led by lady Dis, who acted as Regent in her brother’s stead- was announced. The various families entering the mountain were announced and accounted for, and Bombur twitched nervously as he waited to hear his clan called.

 

“Relax lad,” Gloìn told him, patting his back, “your family will be here soon enough.”

(It didn’t help that he had already been reunited with his wife and son, who stood nearby waiting.)

Bombur was preoccupied watching Lady Dis beat her brother and sons over the head for their stupidity (“Falling for the gold sickness of all things! Where’s that hobbit, he deserves statues!”) and being thanked by said Lady for being one of the few dwarves who did not fall to insanity at the sight of the gold, and nearly missed his own family being called. When he recognized the fierce woman striding toward him, followed by a line of miss-matched children, he gave up all pretense of nobility and darted toward them, scooping his wife into a hug.

 

“You made it!” he cried, peppering her with kisses. Bifur and Bofur smirked from behind Bombur, and the children flocked toward them.

“Of course I did you idiot,” Arunn replied shortly, but lovingly, “that trek was nothing. We had no troubles at all.”

It was of course at that moment that the pack on Arunn’s back- a baby carrier, Bombur realized- began squealing.  It was a higher pitch than Bolgur’s wails, and sounded much more feminine…

 

“Is that another one?” Bofur chortled, “Can’t leave you alone for a few months without either of you adding to the pack. We’ll have a small army at this rate!”

“Aye, yes I took in another one. I wanted children and he wasn’t around to contribute to that task,” Arunn smirked, eyebrow raised, “She’s  human. She’s ours,” she finished, as Bifur gently plucked the child from the carrier.

“Ours,” Bombur repeated, ignoring the money being exchanged behind his back by the company and Gandalf. The children gathered around their family, reunited once more.

Bombur was for the first time in months, at peace.

 

(Until Bolgur spat up lunch on Thorin’s shoes, and Makrun crawled- how was she already crawling?!- her way over to the opening of a mine, and Binur started a fight with a young firebeard his age who looked at him wrong, drawing Borobur into the fight, and Vidunn shouted a swear word that Bofur had inadvertently taught her. They were the family he chose, and the family Mahal blessed him with, and he would not have it any other way.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The canonical (ish) ending.   
> I screwed up dain's personality and I am going to fix it because I really actually LOVE Dain. I forgot how much I loved him to be honest. the movie reminded me of how freaking awesome he was in the books. So I modified a few things but they need work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I screwed up dain's personality and tried to fix it but I don't think it worked. Just bear in mind that he's trying to rebuild Erebor, maintain relationships/ fix relationships with both Dale and Mirkwood, and also keep the Dwarven nobles happy, and that last one is what influenced most of his decisions in this chapter and future chapters. I will modify them when I have more time for fixing things.
> 
> warnings:  
> major character death (canonical)  
> prejudice (as usual)  
> racsim  
> dark foreshadowing.

 

Bombur awaited his family’s arrival in silence; Lord Dain, the new King Under the Mountain, had announced that, though they were to be treated as nobility for their participation in the quest, the same title and benefits would not be extended to certain members of his house. Namely, the elf.

Bifur made his distaste known and refused to accept any further word from Dain, siding with the Ri family in their distrust of the new King’s willingness to keep the promises Thorin made to his Company before undertaking the quest that killed him and his heirs. The Company, torn in two over loyalty to the new king and loyalty to the old, had grown apart in the year since Thorin’s death. Dain had even upheld the banishment of Bilbo Baggins, maintaining that the Hobbit, though a hero in his own right, still betrayed Thorin by giving the arkenstone away in the end.

(deep down they knew the new king was merely making such concessions for the council’s sake, in order to earn the respect of its noble, more conservative and traditional members, but it did not ease their frustration.)

Needless to say none of the company were pleased, especially since they felt they owed their lives to Bilbo. Many were ready to up and leave the mountain they struggled for, and only stayed behind at Mr. Baggins’s insistence.

 

“You fought for this mountain, and as touched as I am by your loyalties, you belong here. In the home you fought for,” he had said sadly, upon his departure, “I at least returned that much to you.”

 

Now, with the return of dwarves to their mountain home, the Company had found that many things Thorin had promised were being held from them. Sure they had noble titles for recovering the mountain, but some were denied the council positions promised to them by Thorin. Bofur and Bifur found themselves as chiefs of the mines, but under the authority and rule of a high noble from the Iron Hills who didn’t know his way around a battle-axe, let alone a pick-axe. They had to deal with his say in making decisions, and having to check with him before making their own decisions, whether it be to abandon an unstable shaft, or to dig in a new area that may be prosperous. Others had faced the same issues as well; Ori received his master status as a scribe, but was denied admittance to the new Scribe’s guild in a position that was worthy of his skill; Nori was demoted from spymaster, and denied the right to restore his underground guild; it seemed that if your family did not possess nobility before the quest, you were not fully given it after. Dain’s council seemed inclined to ignore the fact that every dwarf in Thorin’s company had earned their title ten times over, not only for being the only dwarves that answered Thorin’s call, but for every hardship they went through in retaking the mountain.

 

Bombur shook the thoughts from his head and simply waited for his name to be called. He stared through the crowds for his family, waiting to see the familiar face of his wife and children.

(He ignored the bets flying behind his back on how many kids Arunn had taken in in his absence; it was a running joke in the general community before, and had remained a popular betting subject throughout the entire quest.)

 

Finally he heard a familiar, “ADAD!” from the crowd and braced himself for impact. Three children rushed him at once, bowling him over in their excitement. Binur towered over his uncle, cousin, and father by nearly a head; Vidunn’s beard had finally grown in fully, nearly long enough to twist into elegant braids; Borobur stood tall and awkward, just hitting his adolescent years a few months after Binur hit his; Boftur carried Bolgur in a small sling, beaming happily.

 

“Welcome home my children!” Bombur laughed, attempting to scoop all of them into an embrace. Arunn smiled and approached him, bearing a child carrier on her back.

“We made it,” she grinned, and Bifur circled around her to pluck yet another sleeping baby from the carrier she bore, “and we have a new addition to our family.”

“So I can see,” Bombur grinned, ignoring Bofur as he tossed a bag of coins at Nori’s cackling face, “And what’s her name?”

“Makrun,” Arunn said proudly, “She’s a human and she is ours.” Bifur grinned at his cousin’s wife and cradled the ( _Mahal she was large)_ baby in his arms.

“Aye,” Bombur breathed, plucking the child from his cousin, “they are ours.”

 

The family studiously ignored the odd looks and glares thrown their way as they carried their luggage to their new home, as they had always done when faced with intolerance in the past, and would always do in the future. No matter what hardships and hatred the future held for them, the Ur Clan would pull through it; they were a family and though they were by no means conventional by dwarf standards, they would remain so until the breaking of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I


End file.
